POEMS OF THE WEEK: BY KIM R., LINDA AND COLLEEN

This week, we are featuring three beautiful poems by Kim Russell, of Writing in North Norfolk, Linda Lyberg, of Charmed Chaos, and Colleen Redman, of  Loose Leaf Notes . We're sure you will enjoy them. Top up your cup of tea, and pull your chairs in close. You won't want to miss a single word.

Poetry As a Cry in the Dark

I call out to you in the dead of night.

Dawn seems so far away.

Enlightenment is shrouded in shadow.

A moment of solitary despair.

A moonbeam of ecstasy

and words appear.

The hoot and screech of owls pivot the changing light.

Even a poet feels the weight of sleep heavy on her eyes, when it was poetry that roused her from her bed.

To rejoice as a poet, you must learn to mourn with bluebells and violets, roost with rooks and crows in tall trees, where a nightingale might sing yet.

Sherry: This is so beautiful, Kim. I especially love a poet needing to learn to mourn with bluebells. 

Kim: Thank you for considering my poem, ‘Poetry as a Cry in the Dark’ as one of your Poems of the Week. I am, of course, more than happy for you to feature it.

It’s difficult to write a paragraph about it as it was back in April, right in the middle of NaPoWriMo, when we were all writing one or more poems a day! I wrote it in response to a prompt from Anmol on Day 16 of Poems in April at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads. Anmol asked us to write a poem entitled ‘Poetry as…’, perhaps in the style of Ferlinghetti, who had just turned 100, and he gave us Ferlinghetti’s poem ‘Poetry as Insurgent Art (I am signalling you through the flames)’ as inspiration. I liked the form of that poem so much that I decided to try to emulate it, while writing about my own experience of poetry, which often keeps me up at night or wakes me up in the middle of the night or the wee small hours of the morning.

Sherry: You achieved your goal wonderfully, Kim. Thank you for sharing it. Linda's poem will follow it perfectly.

Bluebonnet Sky

So you’ve been through the roaring fire 
Leaving you maimed, a soul of charred ashes 
But rising from this molten funeral pyre 
Comes a new woman with scars on scars. 

You must know though flawed, you are beautiful 
for you shimmer with the light of fractured stars
and you’ve heard the haunting mystical song 
of the grey mockingbird in pink light of dawn 
His singing sets your broken heart free to soar–
Euphoria your guide, higher and brighter
while you dance with glee in a majestic bluebonnet sky.

Sherry: This is so beautiful, Linda. I love the power and beauty of a woman who has walked through the fire, and can still dance. Love "You shimmer with the light of fractured stars." 

Linda: After over two years of writing poetry on a daily basis, I have learned that the truest poems come from the heart. I wrote this poem on a day when I was missing my mom and missing my birthplace - Texas.

In 1994, I suffered a terrible personal tragedy. Shortly thereafter, I had the opportunity to move to Philadelphia for a job promotion. Once I moved away, I never lived in Texas again for it still holds bittersweet memories. 

I live in Arizona now and I love the desert, but there are times when Texas whispers to my heart, 'Come home'. This was one of those lonely days. 

The Mockingbird is the state bird and the Bluebonnet the state flower. The Mockingbird's song is one of the most beautiful. And if you've never seen a Bluebonnet field in person, it is the most amazing shade of blue.

source

 Sherry: It is breathtaking! Thank you, Linda, for your beautiful poem, and for sharing your thoughts with us.

I think Colleen's poem is going to finish off this feature very beautifully. Let's take a look.

Medicine Wheel Moon  

The sun plunges low
Jets trail like tribal arrows
 
Vultures circle like warriors
and startled doves cry
 
The moon meets the horizon
like a sacred hoop rising
 
Like a white buffalo omen
Dreamcatcher of hope

Colleen Redman photo

Sherry: Your imagery is spectacular in this poem, Colleen. Wow.

Colleen: I live on the scenic Blue Ridge Parkway and frequently drive to a nearby overlook to watch sunsets and moonrises.  As I waited for the April moon to rise over the mountain, a group of deer came into the field to feed. It was quiet and I was struck by the beauty of it all, but I was also unsettled due to current events and the unpredictability of our current administration.  The “jets trail like tribal arrows” and the warrior vultures startling doves reflects my sense of being in danger and on guard. 

As the moon began to peek up, I first began to think of it as a great white buffalo, a sacred symbol of hope to the Lakota tribe.  I began to think of the moon with amazement and as one of the great hoops of life that would hold us all together. Maybe it was a dreamcatcher that could catch the bad dreams we are having now. I knew it was a good medicine wheel of the natural world that we especially needed now.   I felt restored in the experience and a poem was born. 

Sherry: This is so beautiful, Colleen, both the poem, and your thoughts about it. I have always been fascinated by the legend of Buffalo Calf Woman, who will arrive with a white buffalo calf, as a hopeful sign. I see many white animals appearing in various locations now. Signs, I believe, in these unsettled times, a warning that we need to move quickly, and are in urgent need for good medicine to heal this ailing world. Thank you so much for writing this poem, and for sharing it here. It is not to be missed.

Thank you, Kim, Linda and Colleen, for gracing us with such beauty today. Do come back, friends, and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!

Poems of the Week by Sanaa, Donna and Colleen

I have some meaningful poems for your enjoyment today, my friends, penned by Sanaa Rizvi, who blogs at A Dash of Sunny,  Donna Donabella, of Living From Happiness, and Colleen Redman, of  Loose Leaf Notes. Let's not wait another minute. Enjoy!

ODE TO A PASSIONATE MUSE

In my darkest days you are the first
glow of dawn that lights the sky,
your pain is as though splitting of 
seashell that hems in understanding.

I am muse, I am song, yet I am woe
which others reckon their own,
as unadulterated heart I am sound
of the sea crashing upon rocks.

I wish to write words to delve deep
into the poetic mind and retrieve
irrevocable nothings that touch,
hear and taste a world which keeps
me from being myself.

I, am forever bound, to ameliorate
agony of knowing desire better.

Sanaa: Sigh... I remember this poem as if it was written yesterday. It was for Susie Clevenger's prompt where she had featured Frida Kahlo.

The poem 'Ode to a Passionate Muse' is a glimpse of my sub-conscious. It's everything I have ever felt about poetry since the day I began writing.

I believe poetry is like a one-sided conversation where one has to express, keeping in mind that nothing should be left out and that there should be no room for confusion.

To me, the muse is as though a calling, a strong inner impulse toward a course of action. It's like listening to the heartbeat and attempting to translate rhythm into words and image.

Keeping in harmony with the quote by Kahlo, I sought to describe myself in the process of fulfilling the desires of muse, hence the closing lines.

When I sit down to write, I focus more on emotion rather than imagery because I believe if a reader is able to relate to the poem, only then do the words truly sing. It's when I have managed to pour a bit of soul into my poem is when I know it's finished. 

Sherry: That is a very good description: pouring a bit of your soul into your poems. Thank you so much for sharing this beautiful poem.

Donna's recent poem follows the theme of the poet's love affair with words. Let's take a peek.

image by Donna Donabella

The Drought

Clouds drift along in the blue-grey sky,

Words and phrases obscuring the sun.

Drifting in and out of my consciousness,

Not wanting to be captured on paper.

I am like the earth and sky

Seeking balance between rain and drought.

My heart knows when

It will be time to come home again.

Distracted at present-

A monarch floats into my line of sight,

While a hummingbird peeks through the window

To see only its reflection against the vast darkness.

For now I am content

To let the words drift among the clouds.

Soon enough they will meld into a storm, and

Rain down freely again, singing on the page.

Donna: This poem actually was started a few years ago, and like the poem says, it drifted in and out of my consciousness until it fully formed recently. The finished poem came as I was thinking about how storm clouds form, with needed rain to nourish the earth. My words form too, waiting to rain down on me at just the right moment. Sometimes I have to wait with those words for quite a while as if I was in a drought. And when the time is right the words will speak again like rain falling from the clouds. 

Ideas for poems or beginnings of poems can come to me as lines, phrases or just a subject that inspires me. These words come from deep within or in response to something I am seeing in the moment. That is my favorite way to write poetry.

But poetry can be a bit elusive. I have learned not to obsess about it when the poem just won't come to fruition. Instead I keep a journal of phrases, lines, ideas, and revisit them until they decide to form fully into a poem. It's interesting to see how the poem may change or evolve with time. Somtimes not at all as I thought it would turn out. But I let the poem go where it wants....letting go of my expectations for it.

Sherry: I so love "I am like the earth and sky." Such beauty! We do wait for the words to come and, thankfully, eventually they do.

Colleen's poem explores grief, that country we visit from time to time, and which informs our work. 

The Scenic Route

Sorrow is a beautiful country

where you meet your destiny

or the love of your life

But you won't know its hidden fullness

if you don't speak its underlying language

or trust in the lay of its land

Because its depth is as far as its width

and its jewel is disguised by darkness

You have to dig deep to mine its value

be willing to bear and wear its shine

Sherry: I love the truth in "you have to...be willing to bear and wear its shine". 

Colleen: When two of my brothers died a month apart in 2001, I let myself experience grief to the fullest.  As painful and life-changing as that was, it ultimately made me a better person.  Grief carved me out in deeper places, and I recognized it as an integral part of love.  I began taking field notes from the trenches of grief’s frontline and that turned into a book.   The Jim and Dan Stories  was used in a Radford University grief and loss class for counselors for several years. 

More recently, I came across a book titled The Wild Edge of Sorrow by Francis Weller.  My poem The Scenic Route sprang from that title and the thought that “sorrow” is such a beautiful word.  There’s heartfelt work involved in sorrow, but there is also a beauty and privilege to tending to it.  I remembered how some of my favorite songs as a teenager were the ones that touched into my sorrowful longing and made me choke up.

In the Jim and Dan Stories, I wrote: “In this physical world, we have to mine for treasure. Gold and silver and precious gems are not usually found lying around on the surface of the earth. It’s the same with us, we have to excavate our own treasure, down through the door of our childhood, through the pain of what hurts, into the grief of our losses. Life nudges us to go deeper because to live on the surface is superficial. There’s so much more.” That still holds.

Sherry: How devastating, to lose two brothers one month apart. I so appreciate your wisdom in being able and willing to travel through grief so bravely. "There's no way out, but through," as they say. Thank you for sharing this, Colleen. 

To finish off, I would love to include your poem equating writing poetry to gardening. It seems the perfect way to close.

Colleen Redman photo

The Poem Garden

Time to weed the poem

to plant a row of words

to turn the phrases

that bloom the colors

to follow the root

to the source of truth

for the sustenance

of the soul

Sherry: I love the idea of planting words for the sustenance of the soul.

Thank you, Sanaa, Donna and Colleen, for sharing these wonderful poems, and for your participation at Poets United. We appreciate you!

Do come back, friends, and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!

Poems of the Week ~ by Marja, Colleen and Susan

This week, my friends, we are contemplating poems of strength and hope, much needed in this year of one disastrous event after another. Marja Blom, of  A Dutch Corner in New Zealand    , Colleen Redman , of Loose Leaf Notes, and Susan Chast, of  Susan's Poetry,  have each written a poem that will lift your hearts, and affirm your beliefs, so pull up a chair, pour yourself a cup of tea, and enjoy.

INVITATION TO PEACE

Lay down in the long tall grass
in the dimness of dawn
Watch your thoughts
Watch your inner self
afraid of scarcity
Watch your need
for control
Watch and let go
Let go of expectations
Let go of limitations
Let go of attachment
Let nothing owe you
Just be

Lay down in the long tall grass
in the dimness of dawn
Watch the sun rise
See, it playfully paints the earth
Feel it warms the wondrous world
Scattering its dazzling rays freely
on the banker and the homeless man
on the Christian and the Muslim
The sun is sapient
as it shines on everyone
as it knows no borders
as it is and let things
just be

Lay down in the long tall grass
in the dimness of dawn
watch the sky turn into chaos
The sun doesn’t compete with it
but will tenderly perch
through the dark veil
to reach you
to guide you
to inner peace
shining on this untamed place
it invites you to pass it like a torch
to show how to
just be

Sherry: Just Be. Such a wise message. I love this beautiful poem, Marja.

Marja: My poem is for me a framework on which my beliefs are built. I learned from poets, writers and life itself that peace starts within yourself. It starts with awareness of oneself and one another. Awareness that, for example, if you are attached to something and you lose it, you experience grief, loss, anger etc.  Of course, we are attached to our loved ones and as Queen Elizabeth II said "Grief is the price we pay for love."

We are, however, also attached to things we don't need. We are made to believe that we need all these things, like big houses, the newest iPhone, and become attached to a life of gathering. If we are aware that we don't need these things, we don't have to waste our time on it.

Having said that, we should be able to develop in our own way and in our own time. Within relationships peace is possible when people receive the space to be and become themselves. When you expect someone to become what you want them to be, both suffer.

Furthermore, if you start living from a feeling of abundance, that there is enough for everyone, and live in non-attachment, it would enable you to share.  Besides that, a chain is only as strong as its weakest link; we could start focusing on the weakest link in the community, country, world. Every link is important to make the chain strong and if that link is someone who differs from you a lot, then focus on what you have in common, as we are all human beings.

In summary, just let things come into your life, enjoy when they are there and let go. Just like the tides. Like in the animal world, just use what you need, not what you want and let go. Let everything just be. Accept life as it is and move forwards by trying to improve it from there, and take responsibility for it. If we all would take time to become aware of what really matters, then personal and collective peace will increase.

I could extend,  but I love the framework of the poem so everyone has the freedom to build their own ideas from it.

Sherry: Very wise reflections, Marja. In my grandmother's day, they lived frugally, no excess, no waste. It was a better way, I think. Perhaps these times will teach us to live more simply, put less strain on the planet. I hope so.

Thank you so much for sharing this poem and your thoughts. Colleen is sharing a poem that brings such peace in its reading that I caught my breath. It reads like a meditation, and I thought we could all use some peacefulness in our lives right now. Let's look:

Counterpoint

After the nightly news
comes the wood thrush

the monks of the forest
sing a sundown service

buried like jewels
in canopy cathedrals

their clarity of truth
shines with good news
and rises above all falsehood

Sherry: This falls into my heart like rain, Colleen. I drank in the peace and beauty of this poem like cool water on a parched throat. It is just so beautiful! I became one of the monks, as I read.

Colleen: Birdsong is a portal that opens my heart and brings me back to the innocence of my childhood.  I especially love the song of the wood thrush. This summer I spent evenings on the hammock letting their song cut through the chatter and divisions of the world and bring be to a deeper reality.  I began to think of the wood thrush as nature’s counterpoint to the man-made chaos reported on the nightly news, which I also listen to.  I never see them but hear them calling from the wild of the woods.  I feel encouraged, knowing they are there, doing what they were made to, without an agenda.

Sherry: The birds give me peace, too, Colleen. They live so simply, and so sweetly, eating, singing, spreading joy. They have much to teach us about how to live. Thank you for this beauty of a poem. 

Recently, Susan wrote an uplifting poem about the joy, sweetness and love of animals - another source of comfort for us in trying times. Let's take a peek.

OUR EYES HOLD THANKS

            1.

We don’t worry about the animals

who have stewards so much as those who don’t.

I’ve brought orphan kittens home to clean up

and feed, trying hard not to fall in love.

Stuffing, a calico puffball, grew old

downstairs, purring into her steward’s ears.

The human Stuffing cared for needed warmth,

companionship and reminders to pause.

Blackie, a horse I knew, found friendly pasture

where a horse mate kissed and nuzzled her.

They stewarded the humans who brought them 

apples and straw and sugar cubes and smiles.

            2.

Mom’s cat Mimi is horrified that I

sit near her evening spot on the couch back.

She glares wild-eyed at me, then Mom, then me,

until I offer to trade seats with Mom.

Mom comes to sit near me, and Mimi leaps

bravely between us to her cushioned perch.

She won’t blink in response to me, but stares

as if in shock that I dared displace her.

Bad enough that I have Mom’s attention,

but the couch, too?  What was I thinking?

            3.

Carcasses dot two-hundred miles of road

between their house and mine.  Road kill, it’s called.

Crushed deer and skunk, squirrels and cats confront

me, shake me up, resound against my eyes.

There is not a human among them. Have 
traffic agents lifted human remains?

            4.

Rescue kitties, twin girls, stay behind when

I travel.  I worry that they'll forget me.

They worry that I'll forget them, but I 

don't and they don't.  We forgive each other.

I hope they don't prefer the cat sitter.

They sniff me thoroughly, reading the news.

I've been with someone else, so they'll postpone

their certain welcome.  They make me wait a bit.

5.

We hug us, we're animals together.

We hold us close, grateful to be alive

Soft light and warmth diffuses our wonder

at finding safety here within our house.

We may never leave home again—unless

earthquakes and floods and fire threaten, beckon.

Then we’ll traverse the path with care, offer

a hand to animal friends and strangers.

           

Sherry: How I love this poem full of animals! I'm sad about the roadkill. It is always so distressing to see how our being in the world has impacted the wild creatures. And I love the reminder that humans are animals too. We hold ourselves so high, forgetting we are but one species among millions.


Susan: I was thinking about how we forget that humans are animals, and that only when animals' lives matter will we think of the littlest of us in all countries. The more I thought about it, the more this meant that we had to think of ourselves as being taken care of -- not just humans caring for animals. Stewardship is not one-way. 

As I began writing, I saw that vivid examples spoke more impressively than philosophies. I ended up taking away all the verses that moralized, and leaving experiences that might resonate, experiences that helped me grow my own soul and spirit. Left alone, we have easier lives in some ways, but without the gratitude that shows us our place. There, I have started moralizing again! I prefer poetry. I am beyond delighted that you have chosen my poem.

Sherry: It is true - animals care for us as much as we do for them - and more selflessly. They have such true, devoted hearts. I remember Marge Piercy advising you to try to make the reader feel the experience, rather than telling them how you felt during the experience. You have done so wonderfully in this poem. 

Thank you so much, Marja, Colleen and Susan, for your wonderfully uplifting poems. We poets help keep the discussion positive, as we voice the yearnings most of the population feels for unity and peace. Thank you for reminding us of the abundant beauty and love that surrounds us still.

We hope you enjoyed these poems, my friends, and that your hearts are lifted and encouraged by them. Do come back and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!